The Difference Between Us
by Sar'Kalu
Summary: FemHP/TMRJr. Those icy green eyes swept along the man's body with clear disgust, seemingly able to pierce the mans flesh with the cold knowing in them. "The difference between Tom and I, Headmaster, is that Tom doesn't know the difference between good and bad. Me? I simply don't care."
1. Part One

**Title: **The Difference Between Us  
**Author:** Sar'Kalu  
**Summery:** _Those icy green eyes swept along the man's body with clear disgust, seemingly able to pierce the mans flesh with the cold knowing in them. "The difference between Tom and I, Professor, is that Tom doesn't know the difference between right and wrong, good and bad. Me? I simply don't care."_  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and/or any of its affiliates is the strict property of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**Rating**: 15+; dark themes and character death.

* * *

**Part One (July, 1999)**

_"We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged" _  
― Heinrich Heine

The moors were quite, the rolling green hills were weathered and framed against a weeping grey sky; the tips of the silvery grass dipped and roiled beneath the cold wind from the north. It had stopped raining hours ago, and still the ground remembered the downpour, like the sky had been weeping for what was still to come. On the tallest hill stood an old man dressed in brilliant and archaic red robes, gaudily etched with heavy gold thread, an eyesore for traditional wizarding fashion; behind him in a rough semi-circle stood the assembled forces of his beloved and famous Order of the Phoenix. The sky was darkening with the promise of a second downpour, and as the man looked up into icy green eyes, he knew the bitter taste of betrayal and defeat. It was a strange and sad sight to see the famed Defender of the Light to be so tired and weary, his very body drained of the cheerful exuberance that had so characterised his life before this distressing and unpalatable moment. Weary blue eyes weighed the youth before him from beneath white eyebrows as his feet scrambled and scrabbled along the ground, his heels marking the trail of tiny rivulets that traced the girth of the hill he stood on, even as he shuddered from the chill north wind, and his entire face was seamed with exhaustion.

His defeater if that was even the correct term, —_for had he even stood a chance against this most tragic of deeds?_— was the woman he had once considered his staunchest ally, a girl who he had trusted above all others. The Bringer of Light she had been named —_for how could she not?_— she had such a ready grin and cheerful green eyes, always laughing even in the face of doubts and vicious words. And now, the man supposed that the girl would be renamed by the _Daily_ _Prophet_, once this debacle was over, —_betrayal was always a particularly bitter pill to swallow, one that chokes even the most steadfast of men_— She stood in front of him, her green eyes no longer lit with that cheerful exuberance that had so characterised her behaviour until now. He felt the fool for trusting her. Tall and proud she stood above him, that cursed wand in her thin fingers, a cruel smile —_taunting him_— upon those thin lips and her midnight dark hair brushed her shoulders in a wild and fey manner, tangling down her back like a waterfall of midnight darkness. So beautiful, so broken, —_how had he not noticed?_— he dropped his eyes, ashamed for what he'd done; —_the Greater Good_— how great and good she was now, a monster of his making, just as her predecessor before her.

There was no doubting that the girl was dark, dangerous and far beyond anything that the man had ever thought, but she had seemed so sincere, so faithful to the cause —_was it any wonder he felt confused and betrayed_ _now?_— and despite the constant warnings, the whispers of Darkness about her, he had decided to trust her. To give her a second chance. To believe in her. But it had been too late —_already she had fallen_— and in the House of Masks, she had learnt everything there was to know about deception and falsities. And now, for the first time since his youth, —_when his limbs had been strong and his hair the colour of ruddy gold_— the man cursed his inattentive manner towards his students dressed in green and silver; he had been warned about that as well, —_"you can't play favourites as a teacher Albus, you must treat everyone equally," the pot bellied colleague said, his bright eyes gleaming with enthusiasm_—, how he had failed them. Then there was his ridiculous and very personal decision to grant second chances, and third chances, and even fourth chances—_for what could be gained from granting infinite chances_?— when he'd been younger, little more than a teenager with bright eyes and a head full of ideals, Gellert had laughed at him, —_"so naive, Albus, you're such an innocent, and that will be your downfall"_— how truthfully his ex-lover had spoken, and the man despaired as he slid down the slippery slope, unable to look at the girl, his second and greatest failure in the eye.

"Why? _Why have you done this_?" The man asked, his voice frail as he stood stooping against the darkening backdrop of the shadowed moors.

The young woman sneered. "Poor _Albus_, The Betrayed Leader of the Light. You trusted me so foolishly, ignoring _all_ the reasons not too, _all_ efforts to persuade you that I was not as I seemed. Even when your when _beloved spy_ came to you, _telling_ of my despicable actions, _you remained firm in your belief of me_."

The young woman laughed coldly; her voice was no longer that high, fluting sweetness that he remembered, instead it was cold and cruel; unpleasantly so. "How _wrong_ you were, _Albus_."

The man shuddered and staggered further backwards, down the incline, his footing unsure and unsteady; he scrabbled for purchase on the treacherously slippery grass, tearing great chunks from the ground with his pointy-toed boots, miring their shiny surface with mud. The man sighed heavily, the sound dragging from his throat like a mournful cry halted by the immense pressure of saddened loss.

"_How_ could you do this to us? We _trusted_ you." The man groaned, falling to his knees, no longer able to find purchase on the slippery slope and his old hands, weathered, knotted and worn, tore tufts of grass in his fight to remain at least partially upright.

The young woman sneered. "No, _you trusted me_. They never did."

"And that makes it _right_ to do this?" The man asked incredulously, uncaring that his robes muddied and wet as he stared up at the young woman who stood on the crest of the hill looking down upon him as though from a great height.

"No, I don't suppose it does." The young woman agreed, her expression amused. Those icy green eyes swept along the man's body with clear disgust, seemingly able to pierce the mans flesh with the cold knowing in them.

"_The difference between Tom and I, Headmaster, is that Tom doesn't know the difference between right and wrong, good and bad. Me? I simply don't care._"

The man let out a choked sob and bowed his head, resting its weary weight upon the ground as he knelt before his betraying conqueror. Such a difference meant that neither had been brought up well, a fact he'd known well; although any indication at the time had been steadfastly ignored at the time. He had played favourites, and now he was paying the price.

"Then I have failed you." The admission was dragged from his throat, tearing and rasping free like a bird with a broken wing.

The young woman regarded the man with weary impatience and knelt beside him, her voice the cold of the Arctic wind and as implacable as a stone rushing down a mountain. "_You never had a chance_. You _failed_ Tom and I from the very beginning, Albus."

His name was a curse upon those thin lips and her eyes were like poison barbs, digging into his soft fragile skin. "You left us alone, _scared and hated_ in those godforsaken places, _our very own personal hell_, and you _never_ once thought to check on us in all the years we were there, _you forgot about us and left us!_

"Yes, _you have failed_, but _never_ think for _one second_, that you could have won. This would _always_ have happened, it just took a little time for you to realise." The words were venomous in their intensity, the hissing quality of parseltongue dragging out the sibilants and making the sentence one insidious proclamation of damnation.

The young woman stood once more, spelling her dark robes clean and crested the hill once more. He watched her, and finally understood the price of playing god; the death of his sister seemed so feeble in comparison to living a life filled with hatred, fear and terror, how they must have felt, knowing that someone could help them escape, only for that person to refuse and walk away. The woman's icy green eyes swept over the quiet battle field and, upon dispelling the thick mist and fog, fell upon the waiting crowd of her and Tom's followers. The man stared in shock and horror —_how many there were and not a whisper had reached him_— and she raised her thin pale wand and shot up a series of coloured sparks and with a gigantic roar, the crowd —_army_— surged forwards.

The order had been given, the battle was already pre-decided, all that remained was the subjugation of the rabble that made up the pathetic Light side; and as the first curse was hurled towards his disbelieving followers, Albus Dumbledore, Defeater of the Dark Lord Gellert Grindlewald,Defender of the Light, Headmaster of Hogwarts and owner of half a dozen useless titles, knelt at the feet of a young woman with cold green eyes and wept; knowing that there would be no mercy, there would be no salvation and all he would know soon would be the bite of the cold, the sting of hunger and the all encompassing feeling of terror in the night.

Lilith Dorea Potter sneered down at her old Headmaster who wept so pathetically at her feet, his tears running thick and fast down his seamed cheeks as he understood far too much, far too late, and shivered in delight as the dark aura of her partner enfolded her. Tom had as much right to this moment as she did, after all, he had waited close to sixty years for Albus Dumbledore to repent his mistakes and crimes; and here, upon a desolate hilltop to the despairing cries of his beloved Order of the Phoenix, he wept and feared.

Tom Marvolo Riddle stood beside the cold eyed young woman, forty years his junior, and admired her work. Dumbledore knelt before him, their revenge carried out and the wizarding world bowed in homage to them. It was intoxicating this feeling of victory, of triumph, of vengeance earned and exacted; and Tom threw his head back in joyous abandon and laughed, loud and long. Beside him, Lilith smirked with cold victory written all over her gorgeously beautiful face and Tom —_having observed her for the past three weeks, having been bossed around by her, having been taunted by Antonin and Theodore about her_— whirled around, catching her arms and pulling her into him, —_firm against his body, revealing in her curves and soft skin_— and proceeded to kiss —_devour_— Lilith deeply, thoroughly and sinfully; while their army savaged the Light and blood drenched the already waterlogged ground mixing with the blood with the mud into a thick soup.

_"...And so it was that under a cold grey sky where it wept for the Light which fell and lightning heralded the rise of the Dark in a roaring triumph of thick spell-fire and muddied, bloodied bodies; and there upon the tallest hilltop stood the leader's of the Dark. The Dark Lady and her Dark Consort. And at their feet knelt the vanquish leader of the pathetic Light, his head bowed in shame, his spirit broken from truth and his reputation tarnished by his actions; while the Dark Lady and the Dark Consort revelled in the destruction of their enemies and their exultant and glorious ascendancy..."_  
—Arcturus Malfoy, the Dark Return

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_A/N: __And so ends Part One; please review and let me know what you think, _

_Kind regards, Sar'Kalu_


	2. Part Two

**Part Two (1937-1944/1991-1998)**

_"...If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that..." _  
― William Shakespeare

_They were so similar, Lilith Dorea Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle, named for their parents/grandparents they had thick dark hair, dark eyes and thin, aristocratic features. They walked into Hogwarts as orphans —unwanted— ignored by their fellows —disregarded— though Lilith was supposed to be beloved by all —famous— and Tom no different from the rest —unremarkable— life has a habit of making fools of us all, and so Tom and Lilith entered the Great Hall no more, no less than their fellows, the only difference was their heritage, their determination, and their ambition that would change lives and shape the world around them._

Tom was the second tallest in his year but so thin and shivering in the autumn air as he sat —_his navy blue eyes haughty in their self assurance_— upon that old and worn stool, his back straight, picture perfect before his peers. _Different_.

Lilith was the shortest, thin in such a way as to hint at a troubled family life, she sat, —_her feet hanging above the floor, those green eyes shone_— straight backed and beautiful upon the old and worn stool. _Remarkable_.

_The hat fell over their eyes, obscuring their cunning gazes and in the same hall with a distance of fifty years, the self-same shout echoed through that golden Hall. Slytherin._

Tom was greeted with cold eyes and thin lips from his new house and wary suspicion from the rest of the school; a mudblood had found his way into Slytherin. _Disgusting filth._

Lilith ignored the shock and horror emanating from everyone, making her way to the green snake house, her new fellows watching her with suspicion and anger. _False hero._

_Behind both child, Albus Dumbledore stood/sat, fifty years changed a man's position._

For Tom he was the wary and suspicious deputy Headmaster, light blue eyes ever watchful and judging; never interfering in the young boys troubled early years.

For Lilith he was the benevolent and wise Headmaster, uncertain about the girls sorting; he stepped back and watched her carefully, waiting for the slightest slip or fall that might lead Lilith to the 'Dark side'.

* * *

_"I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid." _  
― George R.R. Martin, _A Clash of Kings_

_First year was coloured by anger, rage and hate, cold eyes and harsh words, biting fear and the desperate need to survive the backbiting snake pit. The Head of Slytherin, Horace Slughorn/Severus Snape struggled to protect his sworn charge and beloved favourite. The muggleborn prodigy. Lily's daughter._

Tom was brilliant at transfiguration and potions, his dedication to details showing in his flair for both subjects, —_prodigy_— his Professors watched him in awe and amazement. He made seventy points in the first week alone —_beloved teacher's pet_— and received detention from Dumbledore after hexing Malfoy in self-defence. After the first weeks, Tom found that the bullying only increased as the year passed —_mudblood, filth, freak_— the accusations follow him thought the halls, no different from the Orphanage, only the surroundings are strange now. Tom soon has no one to turn to, —_blue eyes judging, wrinkled mouth excusing_— Malfoy hounds him inside and outside the dorm; and Tom learns to dodge the Dark curses from necessity. Tom's always been a survivor, he has no morals, no scruples; he can't afford to. Tom steals money from his dorm mates —_they're so rich and stupid they never notice_— pureblood inbreeding has its uses after all. Tom exits the Hogwarts Express fifty galleons heavier, a cool and knowing smirk on his lips. It had been too easy.

Lilith excels in defence and charms —_unchallenged_—her prowess astonishing her teachers as she swans her way through the course work with ridiculous ease. Lilith earned sixty-three points in one day —_talented, special_— and receives detention from —_bitch_— McGonagall for protecting herself against the —_prejudiced_— youngest Weasley. Lilith learns to duck behind alcoves —_it's not hiding_— and spends time in the library learning a fifth year shield charms and curses after ending up in the Hospital Wing for the sixth consecutive night. Lilith bares her teeth and endures; Lilith is a survivor. Sometime after Christmas Lilith discovers the existence of a rare magical —_immortality, riches beyond compare_— artefact under the third floor corridor. Two weeks later the stone is in her trunk and an exact replica is hidden in the chamber —_too easy, they're all fools_— Dumbledore never notices and Quirrel —_idiotic sycophant_— dies in a pathetic attempt to liberate the artefact at the end of the school year. Lilith tosses the stone from hand to hand while reclining on her bed at Privet Drive —_hell on Earth_—, a smirk on her lips as she plots and plans for next year. It had been too easy.

* * *

_"By proof we feel our power sufficient to disturb his Heav'n, and with perpetual inrodes to alarm, though inaccessible, his fatal Throne: Which if not Victory is yet Revenge." _  
― John Milton, _Paradise Lost._

_By second year it is well known that the library is their sanctuary, no one knows what they research, but they learn more, grow stronger, harder and faster every day. Blue eyes watch and wonder, but do not disturb, give them a chance, watch and see._

Lilith makes 'friends' with Hermione Granger, the second year mudblood is confused and suspicious of the other girls attentions, but is so pleased by Lilith's attentions that she falls into the research of the Dark arts —_temptation and corruption_— like she belonged there all along. When Lilith discovers Genevra Weasley's little dark secret —_horcrux, possession_— she smiles coldly and traps the first year —_blood traitor_— into doing her bidding. It was far too easy. Lilith controls the basilisk now, the memory and diary of Tom Riddle —_baby Dark Lord_— is packed away and forgotten. Lockheart —_idiot, fake, abusive_— introduces a duelling club and by the end of the night Lilith is trapped between disgust and hatred, —_future Dark Lady_— her 'shameful' —_idiots all of them_— secret is revealed to her peers. And between the whispers and sideways glances, Lilith holds her head up high and doesn't refute it, proud of her ability. Lilith is a parseltongue and the Slytherin's watch her with a mixture of envy, awe and hate; the bullying increases from the other House's while her own housemates watch and wait, curious about their silent 'golden' girl. They can smell the Dark on her, and it excites them in such a way that Voldemort's never had. Voldemort came from nowhere, but Lilith, Lilith was a Potter, an ancient house, a noble house. Eager eyes now follow Lilith, watching and waiting, and she hates them for it.

Tom blackmails Abraxas Malfoy into doing his bidding, the third year is terrified of his thin smile and razor sharp teeth. In return, Abraxas gifts Tom with a book on magical heritage, —_never knowing that he's just ensured his own downfall_— thinking that the book will humiliate the 'mudblood' with his lack of knowledge. Tom laughs as he corners Alphard and Walburga Black playing kissing games behind the greenhouses; Walburga is betrothed to her cousin Orion, she hates him. Alphard is her beloved brother, Tom hates him. Alphard and Walburga quickly fall into Tom's plans, —_aiding the other boy with fearful eyes and hoping to escape Tom's cruel possessive grip_— while Abraxas watches from the shadows and regrets ever helping the blue eyed Slytherin. Tom researches feverishly, tearing through book after book, —_looking, __always__ looking_— his heritage is unknown to him, —_but he can speak to snakes_— only Salazar Slytherin's heirs can manage that. Tom knows who he is, —_he just needs proof_— he ignores the dark looks of the other houses, the fearful eyes of his blackmailed companions and the speculative gaze of the deputy Headmaster. He hates them all, they are all insignificant compared to him.

* * *

_"Beware the fury of a patient man." _  
_― John Dryden_

Genevra and Hermione are 'Dark' —_they were always Dark_— by Lilith's third year —_eyes shadowed with cruelty_— their souls are tainted black by the atrocious acts they have been 'forced' —_they enjoyed it_— to commit. Hermione weeps at night in memory of the girl she once had been but now pretends —_she loves it really, but what would her parents think?_— to revel in the future promised to her by Lilith, her devil with green yes. Ginevra trembles in her mothers arms, hoping that the stench of black magic won't be found upon her —_weak and pathetic fools even if they are family_— and silently waits for the new school year —_yearning for Lilith's approval_— with its Dark magic, cold cruelty and cherished acceptance. Lilith watches her protégées with sly smiles and dark eyes —useful if hated— watches them tear their souls and hearts for her approval —_approve? of you? why should I_?— and laughs. She hates everyone, why should the mudblood and the blood traitor be any different? Lilith has learned from Voldemort however, —_outward smiles and gracious actions, inward scathing commentary: you're all so innocent, you think you know what I plan, what I want, you know nothing_— and is silent in her disgust.

Tom is ready, —_research neatly laid out, easily read, easily understood even by these dunces_— he leaves his research out one night where Orion Black —_imbecile_— can find it. Three weeks later the fifth year confronts him about his findings in front of the house —_far, far too easily manipulated, no challenge whatsoever_— Tom leaves the common room rife with speculation as he seeks the secret chamber; his mind filled with the propaganda of his ancestor —_a monster would do his bidding_— and Tom would be triumphant. While in Europe war breaks out and London is threatened —_muggles never learn_— fire and smoke fills the air and shrapnel rains down on the unsuspecting citizens. Tom watches and learns, hating muggles and their wars —_danger, entrapment, death_— desiring to shed their blood in a vindictive rage. Tom is loud in his hate and disgust; for a Slytherin, Tom isn't very subtle.

* * *

_"I don't like it, but my hands are tied. I just want you to know this: if I ever get the chance to betray you, I will. If the opportunity arises to pay you back, I'll take it. You'll never be able to trust me." _  
― Darren Shan, _A Living Nightmare_

Lilith is trapped by the concerned faces of the deputy Headmistress and her Head of House, her thin frail body curled in on itself as she sits hunched, on the cold hard wood of Professor Snape's chair. Professor McGonagall looms over her, stern faces and concerned eyes, trembling with the need, the desire, to protect the youth —_Lily and James' girl, so clever, so fragile_— who sits with wide eyes and open mouthed —_disbelieving, she has family, why has no one told her_?— before her. Professor Snape burns with a desire he hasn't felt since Lily, —_Lily's daughter doesn't avoid him, Lily's daughter doesn't care about his mistakes (Severus, Lily's daughter doesn't know), she's so beautiful_— and hates himself for it, those green eyes —_Lily's eyes_— were just like his lost loves; and for a moment, Severus trips over the girl's name, —_Lily-no Lilith_— mistaking her for her mother as memories cloud his tongue and mind. Lilith sits and hates, hates Professor McGonagall for shredding what little chance for freedom she once owned —_insane mass-murderer, we have to keep you safe!_— the chance for a happy childhood —_you have a godfather, he would have kept you from them_— and the love of a family —_he hates you now, he wants you dead_— she hates Professor Snape, the man who treated her with decency —_Malfoy, leave Potter alone!_— and kindness —_Lilith, are you settling in well? Can I help you_?— only to trip and whisper in a breathy moan —_he loves her, not you, you're worthless_— the name of her mother. But most of all, Lilith hates her parents —_hero's, Gryffindor's both of them; why aren't you more like them_?— for dying, for loving her —_they died so you might live_— and for protecting her —_screams, begging, high pitched laughter, green light_— from the big bad Dark Lord —_there was a prophecy_— and so leaving her to her hated Muggle —_magic fearing, cruel, abusive_— family.

Tom sits in Professor Dumbledore's office, his navy eyes frightened as he desperately argues his case, —_please, please don't send me back, I cant go back_!— he can't go back to the Orphanage —_it's for the best Tom, don't you miss your friends_?— his life is in danger there. Tom knows that all the lucky boys and girls have been sent away to the country, only those who refused —_unwanted_— or were unloved —_worthless_— were left behind. Tom wasn't unaware of the muggle war —_Nazi supremacist Germany against the allied forces of Great Britain, France and Russia_— like most wizards were, he knew that London —London bridge is burning down, burning down— was under fire from the German Luftwaffe. Professor Dumbledore —_hateful, bigoted, prejudiced; doesn't understand_— is all wise blue eyes and understanding smiles even as he refuses Tom's pleading request. Mistaking the boys terror for hate —_thinks he's better than the other orphans_— and disgust, hoping to ensure the boy learns acceptance and admiration for the muggle's of London and the world. Professor Dumbledore, despite his protestations for good muggle relations doesn't know of London's bombings; Diagon Alley was closed months ago by the Ministry and that was only because Grindlewald —_Gellert, why? this isn't what I -we wanted—_ had threatened it in a letter to the Minister. Tom has nowhere to hide; the young Slytherin leaves the deputy's office —_he doesn't care, not about Slytherin's_— his shoulders bowed and weighted with the knowledge that he'd be lucky to return alive next year. He grips his pale wand and in an abandoned classroom sends curses and hexes —_why? why? why?_— flying into a conjured dummy. Death awaits him in London, and Tom bares his teeth with hate for his mother for dying —_weak, worthless, has to be a muggle_— and being so weak, he hates his father for leaving him —_what did I do? Father? Save me_!— to a life of terror and strangeness and he hates Albus Dumbledore —_I hate you! I hate you! I hate you_!—, the man above all others, —_he doesn't care about the war, he doesn't care about Freaks like me!_— who could have saved him from the London Bombs.

* * *

_"I will see you bereft of all that you have, of home and happiness and beautiful things. I will see your nation cast down and your allies drawn away. I will see you as alone and friendless and wretched as am I; and then you may live as long as you like, in some dark and lonely corner of the earth, and I shall call myself content."_  
― Naomi Novik, _Black Powder War_

Lilith stares into the grey eyes of her 'murdering' godfather —_laughing grey eyes, grinning mouth, hansdsome face_— and shakes her head in refusal —_you left me, when I needed you most_—; Sirius Black stares in silent dismay —_I'm sorry, Lilith, I didn't mean too_— at his beautiful broken goddaughter, —_her eyes are flat and lifeless_— and can see the shattered soul —_what have they done to you? What have we done to you?_— within. Lilith walks away silently, the man behind her had betrayed her in an unforgivable way —_I can't trust you to be there when I need you_— he was free and had been for months now. When she was a baby —_helpless, defenceless; it wasn't supposed to be this way_!— he had left her to fend for herself while he hunted Pettigrew —sneaky rat thief, betraying murderer— and thirteen years later —_ex-murderer, escaped convict_— he turns up, —_well dressed, well fed and laughing in delight at seeing her_— having just returned from wizarding Vegas with a wife —_I'm sorry, I got caught up_— a newly aquired fortune —_I forgot_— and no house —_forgive me_— to live in. Lilith had no need for irresponsible adults —_I'll never forget, I'll never forgive; I'm not my parents_— in her life, she was fourteen now, the rat was dead —_good riddance_— her parents were simply ideas to be cherished on cold lonely nights —_I never knew them, I don't need them_— and she was unhappily living —_read: abused, and its your fault!_— with the Dursley's. Lilith had no need for Sirius Black —_playboy, arrogant, idiot_— she had out grown him. Sirius had no need for Lilith Potter —_James' daughter, has her mother's eyes_— he simply wanted to hold onto the last living link to his best friends, James and Lily. Lilith found herself hating Sirius Black —_I'm not my parents_— as she hated Severus Snape.

Tom stands cold and thin on the platform, —_I survived, I'm stronger, I survived Death and spat in his eye_— his navy eyes gleaming with bitter hatred, behind him the plump and well fed forms of Abraxas and Alphard natter away, their voices grating on his ears. Tom flicks his wand, sending water flying from him violently and warming —_I love magic_— his thin frame, around him his fellow Slytherin's watch him warily. Tom has changed in the three months since he had left Hogwarts —_stronger_— he's watched London burn —_better_— he seen Death walk the broken streets —_harder_— stepped over the dead —_faster_— and the dying —_smarter_— the stench of mud, blood, piss and terror —_I survived_— is still thick in his nose —_I've smelt Death_— and the sounds of the sirens rings in his ears —_heard Death_— a banshees wail —_seen Death_— of danger on the horizon. His hands are strong —_I'm not the victim now_— his muscles wiry —_I can take care of myself_— and his spine straight —_I am your better_— he's confronted the worst of humanity and he stands strong and tall —_I have survived, what can you claim in return?_— , his blue eyes blazing with darkness. Tom left with nothing and returned with everything. The Slytherin's follow him, —_I am your leader_— simply knowing that he was strong enough —_dangerous_— cruel enough —_insane_— angry enough —_vengeful_— and hated —_awe-inspiring_— enough to lead them without question; self preservation is not only a Slytherin trait, but it certainly was strongest in the snake house; Slytherin's aren't fools enough to goad the devil.

* * *

_"Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule." _  
― Charles Dickens, _A Tale of Two Cities_

_Fourth year is predictably dull, nothing exciting expected, until... Everything changes. Blue eyes watch them move through the political circles, confused at their preoccupation. They're at school, what could they possibly acheive at school?_

Lilith finds herself laughing about the tournament —_are they serious?_— and she's the only one —_is she insane?_— her cold green eyes sweep the length of her school, her House, her Slytherin table. Her fellow snakes watching her with the same fear as their predecessors watched Tom Riddle —_insane and dangerous_— fear and fascination —_awe-inspiring and vengeful_— warring in their eyes as they clamoured for her attention. Lilith smiles when the Durmstrang students —_Dark, cold, pure_— move to sit with their Dark brethren in Slytherin —_Darker, purer, colder_— her slight smile —cunning and danger hidden behind beauty's mask— drawing the northerner's to her like moths to a flame. Lilith —_famous and gorgeous_— and Viktor Krum —_famous and handsome_— spend the night talking, her clear green eyes clashing with his own dark brown —_I am the Leader_— as they foster 'international relations' between their two schools and teach black and Dark magic to their fellows, gathering a loyal following —_they call themselves the Dark Allegiance_— not unlike another boys —_Death Eaters_— fifty years previously. By Halloween the Slytherin's and the Durmstrang students are close knit and friendly; a unification against the rest of the judgemental —_Light and prejudiced_— schools. Lilith doesn't pretend to be surprised when her name is called out —_fourth champion? cheater, liar_— she simply accept the events and moves to Viktor's side and the Bulgarian fiercely defends her from the angry teachers and furiously confused Ministry Officials.

Tom sneers in disgust as the Slytherin's rush about him in terror —_he's crueler, meaner, nastier than before_— Tom's not subtle in his anger, —_it burns in his eyes and twists his mouth_— his expression has the Black's terrified. They're still under his blackmail —_incestuous relations, Black, with your sister?_— material, and will be for years yet. Tom uses his new aura of fear to bludgeon —_too scared to run, no where to hide; the common room is a cesspool of fear and danger_— his peers into following him; Tom is ever a believer of Machiavelli's principals: it is better to be feared than loved. Grindlewald and his muggle accomplice Hitler have only proved this principal, Tom has seen the terror stricken muggles —_fearful bugs waiting to be squashed and ruled by their betters_— scurrying in the dead of night, putting out fires and chanting fear tainted avowals of their 'bravery'. We can take it. The motto of the London blitz, a —_pathetic, useless_— affirmation that England will survive the war. Tom ignores the annoying Slytherin political jockeying —_as if I would favour any of you_— about him, Lestrange and Malfoy taking turns each week to be his 'right hand man'. What does politics matter —_nothing at all_— in the face of such devastating warfare and death?

* * *

_"...And you, you better run because i'm going to destroy you for what you've taken from me." _  
― Samantha Young, _Blood Will Tell_

The first task is easy; the dragon —_overgrown be-winged serpent, lesser than Salazar's basilisk_— is assuaged with the liberal use of parseltongue —_Dumbledore twitches with each sibilant hiss_— and a strong —_Dark_— confundus charm. Lilith's method is barely legal and Dumbledore clearly suspects and is wary of her; and the dragon did not escape her wrath —_uninjured; if barely_— unharmed, it would not be able to breath fire easily again. Lilith is unsure if the keepers —_annoying blood traitor's screams are so like his mother's_— are pleased —_less dangerous_— or angry —_valuable specimen_— at her for this. The second task is harder —_underwater, Lilith can't swim_— but still not the challenge Lilith was expecting; wasn't this tournament meant to be life threatening? The lake is cold and slimy but the bubble head charm —_learnt from necessity in first year, the blood traitor twins love their dung-bombs_— and the propelling charm are easily mastered and executed; Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbaton's champion falls foul of the grindylow's; their wiry and strong —_easily breakable_— fingers drag the French girl to the bottom of the lake, obscuring her with seaweed. Lilith ignores the begging eyes and gaping mouth that ask for aid focussing on her task instead; she's a Slytherin not a Gryffindor. Lilith exits the lake first —_I win; naturally_— dragging the prone body of Draco Malfoy after her; putting up with the breathless thanks from the idiots babbling mouth is annoying, but Lilith is more than ready to use the boys gratitude —_you will be returning the favour_— in furtherance of her goals. Particularly when he instigates a life debt —_you're never escaping now; I own you_— in thanks.

Tom realises that yes, politics have a lot to do with warfare, as he navigates the increasingly murky waters of the Slytherin house hierarchy. He's challenged repeatedly and must enforce his decisions with punishment —_I will curse you_— even as he sways the less explosive members with his forced charms. It takes less than two months for his most devoted followers —_Lestrange, Prince, Rosier, Nott, Malfoy_— to notice that Tom Riddle is at his most dangerous when he smiles sweetly —_baring perfectly straight white teeth_— a precursor to severe pain and humiliation. Abraxas Malfoy —_tall, blond, sophisticated_— and Antonin Dolohov —_short, dark, sadistic_— are Tom's biggest supporters; Rigel Lestrange —_thick set, dull witted, whinging_— is sycophantic and is not shy in his adoration of Tom but is too poor and politically inferior to offer Tom much beyond ego stroking. The Black cousins, Orion —_pale eyes, weak chin, frightened_— and Walburga —_shrewish, ugly, whining harpy_— watch the increase of Tom's fame still tightly coiled around the other Slytherin's fingers and both are increasingly grateful that they graduate next year; while Alphard Black —_thin, dark, pale_— who's in the same year as Tom, is increasingly sure that he'll never escape the Heir of Slytherin's cunning and dangerous games. Tom watches his inner circle —_Black, Rosier, Nott, Flint, Zabini, Prince, Malfoy, Lestrange and Dolohov_— with gloating and proud eyes; Tom owns them all even if they don't know it yet they're only fourteen after all.

* * *

_"Revenge is sweet and not fattening." _  
― Alfred Hitchcock

Lilith attends the Yule Ball on the arm of Theodore Nott, her most avid supporter; her lips are like fresh blood and her eyes the green of the killing curse, and she wears a long black dress reminiscent of a dementor's cloak. She's dressed to kill —_green eyes glow maliciously, touch me and you will die_— and draws the appreciative eyes of every male in the room; at the head table, Severus Snape watches the Slytherin teen —_so beautiful, radiantly pleased with all the attention_— and feels his age increase in leaps and bounds, his black eyes are moist and he breaths out a single word; one, that had Lilith heard, he would have died saying. _Lily_. Draco, Blaise and Theodore jockey for her hand all night —_so like her mother_—, ignoring Blaise and Draco's dates and the dozen other girls who wait to be asked by the three most influential Slytherin's as they steal Lilith away from the fevered eyes of the other men in the ballroom. Viktor Krum manages to secure one dance —_twirls her around with ease_— before Blaise —_dark eyes burning with jealousy_— cuts in, his aristocratic face a haughty possessive mask. It's the first time any of the boys call her 'my Lady', but it won't be the last.

The Head boy and girl work on Headmaster Dippet all year and finally manage to organise a ball for the fourth years and up; Hogwarts is taken by 'ball fever' and dates are being secured everywhere even though the ball's not for months. Tom takes Victoria Greengrass, —_beautiful and wealthy_— a pureblood Lady with blue eyes and blond hair. They contrast well —_the most handsome and sort after pair at the ball, the envy of all_— and Tom looks like a tall, dark Prince from a fairy tale in his midnight robes and silver stitching while Victoria dressed in silver and periwinkle looks like a beautiful Princess as she's spun about the room in Tom's strong arms. Victoria is the first to call him 'my Lord' as a joke, but the idea takes root within the minds of the purebloods. Tom laughs to himself and quietly encourages it.

* * *

_"A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it." _  
― Suzanne Collins, _Mockingjay_

The third task is a maze, and it takes Lilith less than an hour to make her way through it, evading skrewts, spiders and sphinxes —_boring, all of it_— as she does so. In no time at all, Lilith snatches up the Tri-Wizard cup, and feels the tell-tale hook-like sensation of a portkey, sending her slamming into an ancient looking graveyard. A high voice commanding her capture is her only warning, and Lilith finds herself dodging curses, stunners and disarming spells —_come on, doesnt he know anything... scarier?_— that the rat sends her way; her movements take her closer to the cup again which she snatches up, deciding not to stick around and find out what the Dork Lord —_pathetic man, pathetic minions; all in all, disappointing really_— wants with her this time. Voldemort's rage and fury echoes behind her shrilly, and Lilith leaves behind a golem and his pathetic servant crouched among the dead —_classy, no really_— somewhere in England. Three days later, Lilith stands on a dais, her Slytherin followers cheering her name in ecstasy as she holds the cup above her head triumphantly a sack of heavy galleons in her hand. Her picture is plastered all over the prophet and in a manor house somewhere south of Hogwarts, a yew wand burns the paper to a crisp, the man's rage knowing no bounds.

Tom is officially 'going out' with Victoria, and watches in bored amusement as the other girls backbite and bitch about Victoria's luck, never guessing that Tom was about as loving to the girl as a vampire to his prey. Victoria wilts beneath the force of Tom's glares and possessive touch —_he owns her_— she learns that green, yellow, blue, purple and black do not go well with her complexion, and knows that escaping her 'Lord' will be about as easy as walking on hot coals and equally dangerous. Tom observes Victoria's fear and revels in it, he is a cruel man, a man unwilling to change his ways while taking what he wants. Its not abusive, —_Victoria loves him and Tom's not abusive_—, Victoria excuses her 'boyfriends' cruelty to her friends when they spot the bruising, he's simply jealous. The girls stop fighting for him after that, and no Slytherin can pretend to be surprised when Victoria throws herself —_Tom sneers at her, she's a coward_— from the Astronomy tower before exams. Tom doesn't pretend to be sad or to feel regret, Victoria has served her purpose. Tom has delightful fun cursing Victoria's younger brother when he's challenged, and Anthony learns his lesson; as his sister had. Tom was Lord and King, even if it wasn't verbally acknowledged yet.

* * *

"_If anger were mileage, I'd be a very frequent flyer, right up there in First Class." _  
― Gina Barreca

_Summer is the worst, trapped in a world they no longer fit, and really, they never have, each time expecting to die and each autumn relishing in their survival. They are strong, they are clever, they are survivors._

Tom crouches in the crypt of the local church, the shrill wail of the nightly 'all clear' siren filtering through the brickwork, and he tries to ignore the stench of fear, sweat and piss that coils in his nostrils like unwelcome snakes. The oil lamps flicker as the Matron of the Orphanage staggers upright to check on the silently crying children who are under her strict, no-nonsense care. Tom knows he's supposed to be asleep, but the fifteen year old is aching to be free of this existence and burns to feel the wind on his face; it's so stuffy down here and Tom wishes dearly that Grindlewald had never started this fight, that Hitler had never supported the Dark wizards war and that he was back at Hogwarts safe and sound in his dorm. Tomorrow is a Monday, and Tom is on duty with the fire department to help clean up the nightly wreckage, he earns a penny a day or an extra ration of sweets. Tom hates muggles, Tom hates war time, and most of all, Tom hates Albus Dumbledore for leaving him to this miserable existence.

Lilith crouches in her cupboard, her back curved and trying to stretch the ache out of her shoulders; she's in trouble again, Dudley keeps making passes at her and Vernon blames her 'freakiness' on his sons desperate attempts to get into her pants. Petunia, thankfully, arrived before Dudley could do anything, but Lilith knows that it's only a matter of time, and fears for her life and soul in this place. Lilith almost regrets not leaving with Sirius, her godfather, only to remind herself that the man would never have cared for her, only for her parents. Lilith bares her teeth angrily, desiring more than anything to feel the wind on her face and the sun on her skin; Lilith hates muggles, Lilith hates Sirius Black for loving her parents more than her, Lilith hates her parents for dying, but most of all, Lilith hates Albus Dumbledore for leaving her with her 'beloved' relatives.

* * *

_"Once bitten twice shy? Sure, but... why not get a bigger dog and bite them back?" _  
― A.A. Bell, _Hindsight_

_Fifth year is boring for them, the momentum of the political dances picks up, but nothing is certain. They are Lord and Lady now, but even that is unacknowledged in many of their peers minds, and yet, the bait has been laid and already the fish lies beneath waiting to be hooked..._

Fifth year is all political, everyone dances around Tom who is now a prefect —_deserving_— and Abraxas Malfoy who is the newly instated Lord of the Malfoy fortune —_hereditary_— his father having died over the summer holidays. Tom courts Malfoy to his side with cunning patience, and Malfoy falls into Tom's hands with surprising ease, his adoring grey eyes always following the older boy as he suavely directs the house around him like a general. Lestrange, angered by Malfoy's supposed preference, is the first to call Tom 'Lord'. The word catches on with surprising —_but understandable_— quickness, and soon Tom is elevated to the title of Lord Voldemort and King of Slytherin. Tom spends his nights laughing with delight at the turn around; no one remembers him as the 'mudblood of Slytherin' any longer. He is their Lord, he is their King; he is Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Lilith, angered by the Ministry's interference, is the first to act against Delores Umbridge, getting the fat, pink woman fired from her post with ease and viciousness. Lilith's statement is clear: Hogwarts is hers. Albus Dumbledore, unaware of Lilith's hatred of him, tries to sway the budding Dark Lady to his side; curious about the Order of the Phoenix, Lilith allows Dumbledore —_unwary fool_— to pull her into his fold. Her followers, the Dark Alliance, smirk in amusement as Lilith recounts the Order's information, and Draco Malfoy is the first to confirm that the Dark wizard —_he is no Lord of theirs_— Voldemort has returned. Lilith smiles at the term, the message is clear, only she is the Dark Lady; Voldemort's time is up. Lilith laughs, joined swiftly by her Dark Alliance, their youthful arrogance assumes that their political take over —_viva la revolution_— will be swift and easy.

* * *

_"Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural." _  
― William Makepeace Thackeray

_Sixth year is a continuation of their fifth, it's falling into place like a jigsaw puzzle, and it's too late for old blue-eyes to halt them now. The avalanche has started and nothing will stop the devastation it wreaks._

Tom releases the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets in his sixth year, his blue eyes burn with fevered fervour as mudblood's drop like flies to Salazar Slytherin's monster. Malfoy and Lestrange are the loudest supporters of Tom's underhanded work, although even the notoriously aloof Alphard Black gets excited when the mudblood bitch —_annoying, ill-bred_— Myrtle Cain dies. Tom regretfully closes the Chamber when Headmaster Dippet threatens to close the school, setting up the half-breed —_half-giant oaf_— Rebeus Hagrid as the perpetrator of the incident. Tom howls with incredulous laughter as the Headmaster laps the story up and gifts Tom with a 'Services to the School' award. Lestrange and Dolohov are admiring of Tom's abilities, and both are swift to swear themselves to his service, claiming that he is clearly a far stronger —_naturally_— Dark Lord than Grindlewald could ever hope to be. Malfoy wavers, as does Black, but neither pledge; Tom watches the shifting currents in curiosity, cradling his diary with caressing fingers. He knows exactly what he's going to do with this book; it's time to pay his dear Father a visit.

Lilith watches with curious abandon as 'Lord' Voldemort appears in Hogsmeade challenging her to a duel. Lilith is tempted to accept —_he dares? He dares challenge her?_— but Blaise and Draco drag her away before she can. They hide in the library and act horrified —_poorly, they were too excited in retrospect_— when the news breaks that Hogsmeade was raised to the ground and Voldemort's return was announced on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Sirius turns up begging for Lilith to change her mind and come to his house for the summer —_over her dead body_— apparently it's far safer than the Dursley's. Lilith only accepts because the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters —_actually... that's rather... interesting_— is in the same place. Theodore and Draco are excited at the opportunity this presents their Dark Lady, while Blaise fears for her safety. Lilith ignores their objections and fears, certain that she wouldn't be caught.

* * *

"_I have found that there are two ways of dealing with men. Either you treat them with respect, or you kill them. Anything in between merely breeds resentment and the desire for revenge." _  
― Paul Kearney

_Seventh year they are Head Boy and Head Girl, the fifty year split is the only thing separating their mirror similarities in the mind of Albus Dumbledore, as he prefers to give them the benefit of the doubt, one more chance to change..._

Tom stares at the shiny badge decorating his chest, the words Head Boy inscribed with gold on its surface; Tom knows that the badge hardly matters outside of school, but it will afford him far more freedom inside. Tom ignores the suspicious stares of Albus Dumbledore and increases his base of Slytherin supporters to those in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; the surprisingly talented second year Slytherin Alastor Moody is the only student to remain free of Tom's manipulations by the end of January. Tom watches the boy carefully, noting the high minded ideals —_weakness! are we not the stronger race?_— that come with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff parentage, and soon disregards the boy. Moody watches Tom with disconcerting suspicion, and Tom realises that Moody is Dumbledore's pet Slytherin, making him angry that even in his Common Room —_his safe haven in a school of eyes and ears_— he can't avoid Dumbledore's eyes. This knowledge sets Tom on the path to realising that being a teacher is the best way to gather support and recruit like minded people. Tom smiles viciously at the thought and puts his latest plan in action: he is refused for being too young and inexperienced.

Lilith is inducted into the Order on her seventeenth birthday, the taint of her —_very_— Dark magic unnerving most of the Light magic supporters; Dumbledore ignores their objections, pointing out that Lilith is the prophesied defeated of Voldemort whom he calls Tom. Intrigued, Lilith questions Dumbledore on the boy Voldemort had once been, and is disgusted to note that this is hardly the first time Dumbledore has failed a student of his —_how unfair and cruel the leader of the Light is_— all on the account of their being a Slytherin. After the meeting Sirius argues against Lilith's muttered insults —_truths_— and Snape silently agrees with Lily's daughter while Dumbledore bows his head in 'regret and sorrow'. Lilith doesn't buy it for a second and leaves the house in a fit of pique, her eyes burning with the fire of the killing curse. The Order watches her go and doubts while Dumbledore prays for a forgiveness he doubts will ever be awarded to him.

* * *

_"...it is by our actions that we are destroyed or saved. The choice is ours." _  
― Sherrilyn Kenyon, _The Dream Hunter_

_Their post Hogwarts years are dull, acclimatising themselves to being adults and the furthering of their goals; it's a time of magical growth and their followers grow ever more in the wake of their consolidating power..._

Tom works in a shop as an assistant, picking up Dark artefacts and cursed items, planning and plotting the hostile take over of the world. Grindlewald was defeated a month ago by Albus Dumbledore, —_newly entitled_— the Defender of the Light and Tom knows that his success depended on Dumbledore's death and humiliation. Its so easy to organise his revolution while working days, his followers are no less eager for leaving school; and they ensure that Tom's legend still lives at Hogwarts, sending letters to absent and various family members around Europe in secret. After finding his mothers necklace, Tom leaves England with the —_unsuspecting and foolish_— Auror's on his tail —_murder charges are for the weak and lesser_— Malfoy and Dolohov smuggling him from the country to Albania with shocking ease. Tom doesn't think much of the Ministry.

The Order continues to argue against Lilith's conclusion, not hiding their disapproval of her as she sits at the table a Dark arts book before her —_research only_— and a cheerfully innocent smile on her face. Dumbledore, remembering Lilith's accusations, gives the young Potter the benefit of the doubt, because he trusts her as he trusts Severus. Lilith barely bits back hysterical laughter each time Dumbledore professes his trust and certainty that Lilith is a good person, never knowing that the muggle burnings —_reminiscent of the witch trials in Salem_— are her and the Dark Alliance's work. Snape watches those unholy green eyes and wonders just how true Dumbledore's words are while Sirius ignores the Dark magic emanating from Lilith and turns a blind eyes to her blatant Dark allegiance. Of the two men who truly could stop Lilith, one would support her, and the other was far too blind to notice something was wrong.

* * *

_"I'm a fighter. I believe in the eye-for-an-eye business. I'm no cheek turner. I got no respect for a man who won't hit back. You kill my dog, you better hide your cat." _  
― Muhammad Ali, _The Greatest My Own Story_

Tom returns to England ten years later, barely recognisable as the boy he had once been; his soul torn into five pieces and scattered around his homeland. Dumbledore, now Headmaster, refuses Tom's application for the position of defence Professor at Hogwarts —_prejudiced and unfair—_ and sends the furious young man away; never knowing that he might have stopped the war before it began. Tom's rage knows no bounds and before long England is soon embroiled in a Civil War, the first Magical war to touch its soil in nearly two hundred years. Dark creatures flock to Tom's banner, excited to gain some measure of benefit from the war, whether it be new territory —_freedom_— or new respect —_acceptance_— from wizards and witches, Tom doesn't care, he simply uses them with vicious effectiveness. The death toll mounts while Lord Voldemort doesn't hesitate to burn, destroy and taint everything he touches; the Magical world screams for a saviour —_there isn't one_— and Dumbledore is pressured to defeat Voldemort as he had once defeated Grindlewald. Except that Tom is not Gellert, and Tom owes nothing to Dumbledore —_Dumbledore owes him, after all_— and so never accepts the terms of a formal duel, preferring his methods of terror and guerrilla warfare. Tom has learnt from his predecessor, —_foolish old man, love is a weakness_— and isn't willing to gamble his rule on a duel. Tom knows he will win, eventually, he is immortal, he has time. Dumbledore scrambles to counteract Tom's efforts and fails in every aspect until, in nineteen-eighty-one, a year old baby girl rebounds the killing curse —_how?!_— and rips Tom's soul from his body and causing the war to falter in its tracks.

Lilith is nineteen, her Dark Alliance is nearly a thousand strong with the graduates of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang swelling her ranks as she surrounds Malfoy manor, Draco —_third in command after Hermione_— at her side. In less than half an hour, Lilith owns the Death Eaters and Voldemort bows at her feet; the scaly snake-man —_disgusting_— submits to Lilith's rule, knowing the true fire of a Dark Lady —_outnumbered, outclassed_— and his most loyal and most faithful followers watch in shock as the young girl —_woman, Dark Lady, Queen_— immediately takes charge. Lilith sends out a challenge to Dumbledore, inviting him to a duel between him and the Dark; Dumbledore accepts with suspicious —_does he suspect? Surely not..._— swiftness. Lilith smirks as she hides her followers under the cloak of mist and rain, ordering Voldemort to meet Dumbledore at the suggested site. Lilith arrives with the Order, her sweet smile turning vicious as the rain and mist parts to reveal an army of thousands before them. Sirius can't even pretend to be surprised —_he knew, he'd always know, and he accepted this as his greatest failure_— when Voldemort declines responsibility —_young and handsome once more, claiming loyalty to one a third his age_— of the Dark Alliance, as the Dark army is now known as, and Snape bows his head in acceptance —_one too many times, Snivillus, I'm not my mother, I owe you nothing_— as the sickly green light of the killing curse takes his life, revealing Lilith to be the Betrayer of the Light.

* * *

_"For some offences, there is only retribution." _  
― Dennis R. Miller

_Dumbledore staggers backwards, his pointy-toed boots sliding in the wet grass, churning the mud with the blood of the dying Light wizards, watching in horror as Lilith, finally, kisses Tom in victory, and knows the bitter taste of treachery and that he had failed twice in keeping his students safe, that he had failed in keeping his students to the Light, that he had failed Tom, that he had failed Lilith and there was no one to blame but himself._


End file.
